Chapter 1

'Suppose you kidnapped me instead? You're a sky pirate, aren't you? Then steal me! Is that so much to ask?'

As finalized as it was the princess' proposal weighed heavily on Balthier's mind as he walked down the main corridor of the Strahl, having set the ship on auto-pilot. Treasure from King Raithwall's tomb had certainly been enticing enough for him to whisk her away without much thought, but the recent events leading up to their meeting in the cockpit—had it only started last night?—piqued an unhealthy interest in the whole affair. All of it had fallen together so perfectly that he began to doubt chance had anything to with it. Fancy meeting and rescuing Basch in Nalbina, but now also the Princess Ashelia Dalmasca, who was supposed to be two years gone from this world? He didn't like it.

The only ones who seem unconnected in this web are Vaan and Penelo. I suppose Fran, too, but she's my partner, and would have come on the adventure anyway. I could've dumped Vaan and his girl in Bhujerba and nothing would've changed. I'm going soft, Balthier mused as he fiddled with his cuff, having stopped walking as he attempted to put the pieces together of the broad scheme. Suddenly he realized he had halted; he sighed heavily and then put on his carefully crafted façade. Removing the remnants of his thoughts off his face, it was not long before he heard the rest of the groups' voices.

"He has a lot of stuff. How much do we really need?" Undoubtedly that pitch had to be Vaan.

"We must travel as light as possible. It will take two or three days to reach the tomb, and that is from dawn to dusk each day," Fran said in her forever neutral voice.

"Shelter, sleeping bags, hygienics, food, water, clothing." He stepped in to see Basch sorting the items as he sifted through it, listing it off verbally as he tried to pack their gear.

"Do not forget the Iodine," Balthier said. He somehow managed to blaze a trail through everything, frowning tersely at all the equipment sprawled across the floor. "We will make a stop in Rabanastre for provisions, and meanwhile we should figure rations. Princess, how long do you think we'll be in the tomb?"

Ashelia shot him a cold look as though she wished she'd never have to speak to him again and said, "I suspect we'll be in there two days at the most."

"Then we should pack nine days worth of food. Edibles will make up the bulk of the weight, but then we must carry weapons, and only three of us should carry packs so the rest might fight fiends." He picked up his pack and inspected it. As an afterthought he added, "And no one will carry more than fifty pounds, particularly the ladies."

The princess' glare darkened at his comment and retorted, "I am not weak, Balthier."

"I do not doubt that, but I guarantee a sore back and chafed hip bones if you attempt it," he replied, a classic smirk playing on his lips. "It is science that a person should not carry more than thirty percent of their body weight. Just by sizing up your petite frame, your Highness, I would guess that you shan't carry more than thirty pounds." She opened her mouth for another response but he quickly said, "Restricting you to thirty pounds only is unrealistic though. You're going to have strain your back a little. Now, where were we? Oh yes, pack only the bare minimum. Make-up, in particular, can stay on board."

Fran merely sat there, already knowing these rules. Penelo merely shrugged her shoulders and said, "I could never afford make-up anyway." Ashe remained silent.

"Does anyone beside me have an extra pair of clothes?" Her Highness has been underground and was arrested before she could gather her belongings, Basch has been in prison for two years, and it is unlikely that orphans have much in the way of clothes anyway. Of course, no one said anything and he sighed and said, "Fran, do you have anything you could give to the ladies? I may have something to spare for Basch and Vaan."

"I don't need anything else, thank you," Vaan muttered; his eyes were downcast to the floor as he drew invisible circles.

"Suit yourself. Captain?"

"I would appreciate it, thank you."

Within minutes he carried immaculately clean and smoothly folded clothes in one hand, then getting an idea he stopped by the kitchen to root for any dried food. Fran always condemned my snacking, he thought as he found several packages containing peanuts, granola, and trail mix. On a whim he decided that packaged rice could be useful, and also snatched several dried bricks of noodles. Should we really bother carrying around a pot and stove? It would likely be appreciated within the tomb, in any case. He grabbed a box of sealable bags before rejoining them.

"What are the bags for?"

"Packing of course." Balthier opened the bag and stuffed one set of clothes inside, then promptly began rolling it up until all of the air was squeezed out. Sealing it, he tossed it to Basch and did the same with his set. Over the next hour he demonstrated the art of compact packing until he had three backpacks, weighing in at thirty pounds each. "I hope you can all repeat that. I will not show it again."

"How do you know all of this?! I have never seen anyone, let alone a man pack like this." Ashe was looking at the packs as though they were an unappealing foreign food.

He flashed her a grin. "Princess, I am the leading man. He always knows such important life skills."

"You call this a life skill?"

"Certainly. Anything that has to deal with surviving nature qualifies as a life skill. Now, go to sleep. We have an early start in Rabanastre, and then we have to dash to the Ogir-Yensa to make this trip as short as possible." And then he strode out before any further conversation.

The Strahl eased through the air at an incredible velocity, but the starfield moved only minimally within the vastness of the sky. Almost at once Balthier relaxed as he stared out into the night. Here there was nothing but a vast field of continuity and certainty, even as he traveled toward an uncertain future. No matter where they traveled there would always be the stars to ground them in the security of their existence and, at the same time, mortality.

I sense this is an issue much bigger than simply retrieving the Nethicite. Nethicite. The word caused his stomach to churn and he shuddered nervously. An evil foreboding gripped him and suddenly he wondered if he should have taken the deal, treasure or no. What was the use of all the treasure in the world if you were dead? Nothing good can come of her using it. I hope she knows that.

"Isn't it wonderful, Ffamran?" The old man peered at the chunk of crystal in his hand; it glinted innocuously in the evening light, but the pair of them could almost sense its hidden power.

"Yes, of course, doctor," Ffamran muttered, his voice muffled beneath the cold, steel mask. They stood patiently in a lift that silently carried them to the Bunansa lab. Ffamran could have removed his helm upon stepping in, but it was much easier to hide his disdain and—was it true?—fear for the doctor and the Nethicite.

"This could solve all of our problems. It's time to take back the reigns of history, and let man control his own destiny. The gods will control us no more. Just think, you will be apart of the first generation without fetters, and it will be because of your direct efforts, my son, that we will be free," Cid placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled winningly.

"Hmm." Ffamran wasn't entirely sure what to say; it all made very little sense to him. He had tried to confront his father on this, but he could not tell which comments were directed at him, and which were thoughts spoken aloud. This had been the most direct conversation in at least a year, but it was still driven by Cid's maddened ideas.

Naturally, Ffamran assumed it was a result of mother's death that brought on the slow descent into irrationality. Cidolphus Bunansa had never quite been the same since, but Lady Bunansa had passed away when Ffamran was twelve—nearly five years ago—and it was only in the past year the good doctor began showing signs of schizophrenia. If he had to be especially specific, the transformation had not occurred until after Cid's trip to Giruvegan. That is when the family started to deteriorate.

The younger man shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the aches on his muscles and skin the armor gave him from extensive use. Moisture trickled down his forehead, having collected at the top of the helm from his breath that did not go out the proper vents. Finally, weakness prevailed as he continued to struggle for breath and he yanked the helmet off and drew in a long deep breath.

Somehow he shook Cid out of his surprisingly silent meditation and he frowned disapprovingly. "You're going to have to learn to live in that armor. You cannot show weakness as a Judge. You must be strong, no matter the irritations."

"But—"

"None of the other Judges do." At that moment, the doors parted and Cid headed toward his study, not even bothering to look back. If he had he might have been surprised at the wide range of emotions contorting his son's face. Ffamran gritted his teeth from contained rage, but his eyes were wide with this terrible vulnerability.

"He really is lost to me." All Ffamran wanted to do at that moment was halt time, but the gears ground onward. There was nothing for it but to bottle everything and move on. It was half an hour before he moved from the lift.